All My Loving, Let It Be
by whatsamatta
Summary: Was all the letter said.


_**Disclaimer: I don't own Hey! Arnold, the Beatles, or much else for that matter. And here is the mini sequel to Revolution 9, yours for the taking. And just so you know, I wrote this because, well, I'm a sucker for these endings. And there are some questions this will undoubtedly raise that I refuse to answer. You'll just have to see what happens . . .**_

HA

He watched her carefully as she bent to hang the wet laundry on the clothesline, the light breeze dancing with her hair and the sun warming her back. The silver pendant around her neck glinting every now and again as it caught sunlight with her movements. The smell of warmth and dew and fresh cut grass flirted with his nose, while the sounds of her soft humming and the neighbor's sheep entered his ears. The sight of her, coupled with the world so quiet around him, filled his heart with such a feeling of love and something unexplainable – it was overwhelming.

It was days like this he was truly thankful to be alive.

*

Rhonda had been heartbroken for over a month now, only going to school and coming home. She wouldn't socialize, wouldn't attend parties, nothing. It seemed that her soul had died with Thaddeus Gammelthorpe, and her heart had been buried with him.

"Rhonda, honey, please come down. Nadine has been calling nonstop, and we're all very worried about you." Brooke Lloyd's voice came gently up the stairs, but Rhonda just laid on her back, the floor feeling much more welcoming than the bed. Her eyes were trained on the ceiling, not wanting to feel anything. It hurt too much to feel.

It hurt too much to live.

It seemed like she had been laying there for an eternity before a soft knock on her door brought her back to reality, and she turned her head slightly to see Giles enter her room with something in his hand.

"Miss? This was brought for you." he informed, offering her a small envelope. Her sorrowful eyes simply moved form him to the package, then back to the ceiling.

"I don't want it." she didn't see the soft smile that came over his lips at her reply, only the motion of him setting the letter on her desk.

"Believe me Ms. Lloyd, I think this is one letter you'll want to muster up the will to read." When she turned back to face him, he was gone, but the letter still remained. She watched it for a while, before returning to the ceiling. Then the letter. Then the ceiling.

Then her curiosity got the better of her.

Slowly pushing herself to her feet, Rhonda eased her way to the corner of her desk, as if the letter were a deadly snake. Lifting it up, she found there was something slightly heavy in it, and there was no return address. She debated opening it for a few minutes, subconsciously weighing it in her hand, before she made her decision.

Taking her ornate bronze letter opener, she tore the side, an intricate silver pendant on a long silver chain spilling into her hand. It looked like a pair of hands holding a crowned heart. Setting it down, she eased out the letter and flipped it open, nearly swallowing her tongue as she recognized the handwriting.

*

_My Dearest Love,_

_If you are reading this, then you have already attended my funeral, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am for putting you through that. And although I can't really tell you much of anything through this letter, I can try to ease your thoughts._

_The pendant is a Claddagh, the heart denotes love, the hands friendship and togetherness, and the crown is loyalty. This one is a bit less traditional, as the knots surrounding the hands represent faith. I ask you to wear this, for me, and know that I have sent out my heart in a letter. I also ask you, learn the nationality of this pendant, and go there. Please. You'll find me._

_So close your eyes, and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you. But remember I'll always be true. And then while I'm away, I'll write home everyday. And I'll send all my loving, to you. So please, don't ask questions, just follow my instructions and let it be._

_And I'll send all my loving to you._

_Eternally Yours,_

_Curly_

*

She just about screamed when she read the letter. Did he send it before the attack? No, he couldn't have known he was going to die. Was he a ghost, then, tormenting her from the grave? Or could it be that maybe, possibly, he was . . ?

He was still alive.

Not wanting to ask questions for fear of breaking the magical moment and learning that he really was dead, Rhonda dove for her laptop, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for it to get started up. As soon as she saw her home screen, she pulled up Google and typed in Claddagh, biting her lips as she read the first country listed.

Ireland.

Checking a few more pages to verify, she was amazed that her hunt was so easy. Was that a good omen or a bad one? Shushing away her nagging conscience, Rhonda instead focused on making sure her travel papers were in order and her passport was up to date. Suddenly a thought struck her.

_Should I tell the others?_

Slowing down, she let the full weight of the consequences of her choices fall upon her.

"Shit."

*

It hadn't rained since his funeral, she realized as she slowly walked up the steps to the school, letting her classmates pass her as if she were in slow motion. The day was warm for winter, the sun shining behind the wisp of fog that had risen from the bay. A few insane birds that didn't fly south were just hanging out on the field and track.

Stopping just at the top of the stoop, Rhonda turned to look out over the world she had never paid much attention to. It was strange, standing stalk-still and letting the feeling of the world wash over her. Was Curly still alive? It no longer felt as if he had left her. And if he was living, did he see the same sunrise and think of her?

She hugged her books close to her chest as if to capture the feeling and hold it forever within her, before turning and entering the doors as the first bell rang throughout the grounds. She passed through the first half of the day in a daze, miles away on an island with rolling green hills, magic and lore, and a dark-haired lover whose memory she could never be rid of. By the time her study period had come, Rhonda had had it with being indoors. Seeing as she was all caught up with her classes and had never been much of a trouble maker, the supervising librarian saw no harm in granting the girl's request of spending the period outside on the track.

The day hadn't really warmed much since the morning, and she could still see her breath as she sat near the top of the bleachers, going over her travel papers and her plans again and again. Would her parents understand? Should she even tell them, or just leave a note saying not to worry and calling them when she landed? Should her friends know? Would they notice she was gone?

Well that was a stupid question. Of course they would notice if she just up and disappeared. She was Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, she didn't just vanish like a certain crazy little Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe was . . . known . . . too, do . . .

He had entered her mind again, and it was no wonder that when class ended for lunch she hardly noticed. Nor did she see the pair of blondes slowly making their way towards her from across the field. It was only when their heavy footfalls on the steel benches echoed around the otherwise deserted field that Rhonda was jolted into awareness. A sharp, almost bark of laughter joined the sounds when she jumped, and Rhonda let her eyes drift to the two making their way up the steps to join her.

"Hey Princess, why so lonely in your tower?" Helga called when she and Arnold were halfway up the stands. Rhonda smiled, although it seemed halfhearted, and her friends could clearly see through it. Sitting down one seat below her, the couple exchanged worried glances before focusing on the Lloyd.

"What's wrong, Rhonda?" Arnold asked, and Helga rested a comforting hand on the raven haired woman's knee as they waited for her to explain her troubles. Taking a shaky breath, Rhonda steeled her nerves, choosing to stare at her lap rather than meet their eyes.

"I've been thinking . . . I need to get away for a little while, some place far away where I don't have to hear all the bad things said about him. All the horrible, nasty things that aren't true and only serve to prove the fact that he's dead. Especially since . . . well, I just need to get away." She didn't need to clarify who _he_ was, ever since Curly's funeral the group seemed in a perpetual state of gloom. Helga and Arnold both nodded their understanding, but it was only Helga who looked at Rhonda with an almost state of scrutiny. As if she knew something, something about her and Curly's relationship; maybe something Rhonda herself didn't even know.

"Well, Rhonda, I have an idea about what's going on, but mind you it's only an idea. So I wish you good luck on your travels, and don't listen to what other people say about the choices you make. Your life is your own. We all make decisions that alter our lives, and make either a monumental change or a mundane one - either or it makes no difference to anyone but you. Your life is still your own, and you have to live with it until it ends. Just, try not to have any regrets." Helga finally said after a few moments of silence, and Rhonda was amazed at the change that had overcome her friend. Arnold watched, stunned as well but more accustomed to hi girlfriend's bouts of philosophical wisdom.

Her speech over with, Helga stood and motioned for Arnold to follow her, and he did with a brief nod and well-wishing. They had only just started down when Helga paused and turned back to Rhonda, one more thing on her lips.

"Oh, and Princess . . ."

*

Still fretting, and now thinking over Helga's words, Rhonda could only stand in the lobby of the airport and stew over her decision. Alone. The only friends who knew she was leaving were Helga and Arnold. Hell, her parents didn't even know yet. For all their semi-understanding, she left a simple note with Giles to give them once her flight had been in the air for at least four hours.

_Mummy and Daddy, please don't worry,_

_Gone to Ireland to try and find peace,_

_I'll call when I land._

_Love Rhonda_

And that was it. She felt horrible as she wrote it and left the instructions with Giles, she really did. But knowing her parents, they would flip and call out every national service money had its disposal. She didn't want them to worry, but she also didn't want them to come and find her.

This was something she needed to do on her own.

She had been standing in that lobby for well over twenty minutes, waiting for clearance to go through security and board her flight. Her fist clenched and relaxed over the handle of her roll-away suitcase as she watched the people all around her moving, living.

"Rhonda!" A voice pierced her chaotic mind, and Rhonda turned to see Jolene rushing towards her, a small box in her hands and a red-faced Ted behind her. She huffed and she puffed and she cut a deliberate path through the weary vacationers and businessmen and little girls on their way to Grandmother's house. Grabbing Rhonda in a bone-crushing hug, the older and presumably last Gammelthorpe almost started crying again.

"Rhonda. Rhonda, Rhonda." It seemed for a few moments all Jolene could say was her name. She was speaking into Rhonda's shoulder, mumbling into the fabric of her shirt before pulling away. Surprise was written on the young Lloyd's face when she found that instead of sobbing, Jolene had a smile on her lips and in her eyes. Looking over the older woman's shoulder, she found that Ted was smiling too, and cradling the box to his chest.

"We were so afraid we'd missed you." She didn't elaborate any more than that, simply took the box from Ted's grip and handed it gently to Rhonda, a soft smile on her lips.

"We, I, have a gift for you. And before you tell me how much I can't give this to you, I insist. Who knows? Maybe that far away Isle you find yourself on will have someone you can share them with." She winked mysteriously, and Rhonda eyed her before opening the box with a gasp. Her head snapped up, but she was too late – both Jolene and Ted had disappeared, had left her alone with the box of memories.

Almost feeling as if she were trespassing, Rhonda reached into the box and lifted out the photo that lay on top of the other small mementos.

It was a faded sepia Polaroid of a woman in a black and white sundress. She had dark hair that ended about mid back, which was braided and slung over one shoulder. She was small, five foot at the tallest, and she was petite. The thing about this photo that made it so comical, though, was that she was outrageously pregnant. So much so that it appeared she would be too heavy and topple over face first. Her eyes were sparkling as she held her stomach, giving the photographer a slide long glance while she sat on an old wooden swing, her bare feet not touching the dirt beside the tree.

There was a little girl by her side, not looking at the photographer, but instead at the spot on the woman's stomach where her hand rested. She had dark hair in short pigtails, and a smile on her young face.

Turning the picture over, Rhonda let her eyes wander over the elegant script with tenderness.

_Mamma with Jolene and Baby Boy_

_At Grandpa Gammelthorpe's farm_

_February 2, 1990_

She smiled, tears in her eyes, before placing the photo back in the box, unable to look at it any longer. Even as one of the airport workers announced that Continental Flight 485 for Dublin was now boarding, Rhonda could only focus on the precious gift that had been given to her. Did she, did Jolene; did Jolene know her little brother was still alive and waiting for his lover in Ireland?

No, that's impossible, even Rhonda herself was unsure if he was still alive or if she was just chasing a dream. How could Jolene know? And then there was Helga's departing message before Rhonda skipped out on the last half of the school day to leave . .

Just who exactly was in the loop here?

Rhonda continued to mull over, well, everything, even as she passed through security and boarded the aircraft. She settled into first class, not daring to open the box again during the whole fifteen hour flight. Instead, she looked out the window and fiddled with the silver pendant around her neck, eventually drifting into a sleep filled with rolling green hills, magic, and her dark haired lover.

*

It had been over a month since his funeral, and every day following he had gone to the airport, a rose in his hand and a face in his head. He would sit in arrivals and watch as lovers embraced, weeping at the sight each other after crossing the continent or crossing the pond. A few times he would bring along Sam McDaniels, a local he befriended in the town he moved to. The young man was sitting next to him now, listening to the sounds of the airport around them.

"I still don' thin' this gearl o' yer's is gonna show." He mocked in that thick Irish brogue, and his companion was steadily growing irritated.

"Yeah, well, you don't know Rhonda like I. She'll show; it's just a matter of time and patience. I've already died for her, I can wait forever, too." He snapped, twirling the single rose between his fingers, taking his eyes off the arriving terminal for the first time in fifteen minutes. The redhead next to him just shifted, still uncomfortable about his friend's past that he just recently discovered.

"So, what's this gearl of yer's like?" he asked, quickly changing the subject, and Curly let him.

"She's the most beautiful woman in the world." He answered without a hint of hesitation or sarcasm, and Sam laughed gently, forcing the dark haired man to look at him sharply.

"A 'ole lotta good that does me, boyo." He scoffed, softly tapping the corner of one of his eyes. Of course, Curly almost forgot.

Sam was blind as a rock in the back of a dark cave.

"Sorry." Was his simple apology, and Sam shrugged before letting his empty eyes scan the busy international airport. He was just about to make another snide and half-meant jab about his friend's girl not showing, when he felt Curly stiffen next to him, heard his sharp intake of air.

"Thaddie?" he asked quietly, unsure of whether his friend's silence was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Rhonda." Her name fell softly from his lips, and Sam could feel Curly slowly move from his spot sitting on the railing, and then he was gone. Well that was cool.

It's not like they never played Ditch the Blind Kid before.

Rhonda's eyes scanned the terminal as she vaguely wondered just what she was doing there. She was in another country alone for crap's sake? And for what? To follow some fool-hearted thought that maybe, just maybe her obviously dead friend was really living in hiding in a foreign country that _wasn't_ Canada?

She was just about to turn and try to catch a flight home when something caught her eye. Moving slowly, she let her eyes graze over the many people, before stopping on a young man who was walking towards her, a soft pink rose in his hand and a smile on his lips.

She'd know that crooked grin anywhere.

"Curly . . ." she couldn't think of anything else to say as she suddenly found herself running towards him, laughing as he picked up his pace as well.

"Rhonda!" he suddenly shouted, and she screamed with joy as she jumped into his arms, squealing when he spun her around, and moaned when he kissed her with such a passion . . .

She'd know those lips anywhere, too.

Tears began rolling down her cheeks and she cursed them; she had never been one blessed with beautiful crying. Pulling away from her, he looked at her red and blotchy cheeks, wet eyes and nearly-runny nose. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He moved in to devour her again, and she complied, if only because a month was a long time when one is believed dead, and because she needed it as much as him.

"All my loving. I swear, my dove, all my loving . . ." he mumbled against her reddening lips, almost dieing from the feeling her love gave his heart. Seconds seemed like hours, minutes seemed days as Curly savored the feeling of her in his arms.

A month was definitely far too long.

"Alright ye love bieards. Break it up, break it up. I'm gonna be sick." Sam's voice broke through their lovey-dovey moment, and Curly laughed while moving away from Rhonda in order to formally introduce the two.

"Ah, sorry Sam. Rhonda, this is Sam McDaniels, Same, this is Rhonda Wellington Lloyd." Rhonda, still blushing from both Curly's attention, and then Sam's calling it out, elegantly held out that Sam took only slightly clumsily.

"Pleasure's all mine. Thaddie just wouldn' stop talkin about ye. Wish I coul' see ya beauty but naw, I only get me imagination." He smirked, before breaking out his collapsible cane and tapping his way towards the exit. Smiling crookedly, Curly turned to Rhonda while rubbing the back of his head nervously.

"Thaddie?" she asked, and before he could explain, and shout from down the aisle latched onto their ears.

"Oi! Come on Thaddie! Let's show that gearl o' yer's what livin in Ireland is all about!"

Offering an arm and the rose, Thaddeus 'Curly' Edwin Gammelthorpe smiled while taking her luggage. And with an equal smile on her lips, Rhonda Marie Wellington Lloyd accepted.

*

The sun was still shinning as he shifted in his chair, watching as she finished up with the laundry, hanging the last damp sheet on the line. It was funny, seeing her working like this, and actually enjoying it. When he accidentally let a small laugh escape his lips, he watched as she turned to look at him, picking up the basket as she made her way over to him.

"Now just what is so funny?" she asked, a hand on her widening hip as she eyed him suspiciously.

"I was just thinking how funny it is to see you doing laundry. Before you came here, did you even bother to lower yourself to doing peasant work?" he asked, and she laughed while lightly rapping his head and simultaneously kissing his forehead.

"Of course not, darling. I had man servants to do all the dirty work. But you know, I wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe one . . ." her smile faded, and he watched her eyes as violent memories of explosions flashed through her irises. Taking her hand, he snapped her from her episode by kissing first her fingers, then her slightly protruding stomach. Laughing, she kissed his head again before heading into the small house.

"Rhonda." His voice stopped her, and she turned to look at him, the maternal glow making her positively shine in the Irish sun.

"I love you." Her smile lit his whole world, and he couldn't help but grin crookedly, even as he heard the telltale signs of Sam barging into their modest home.

"I love you too, Crazy." She laughed before disappearing into the house, the basket on her hip and a soft hum on her lips.

"_Oh, and Curly?_" she called, and he grunted in acknowledgment.

"_Helga told me to tell you something the day I left for Ireland, but I'd forgotten it until now._" He smirked in typical Gammelthorpe fashion, leaning back and letting the sun's rays warm him.

"Oh yeah? And what was that?" the house was silent for a moment, and Thaddeus could almost see the face of his wife as she thought back to that day.

"_She wanted me to tell you that the Cheshire Cat sends her congratulations._" She listened closely, and could hear the sound of his curse as he fell off the chair. No, she had no idea what her friend meant with that message, and yes she was now certain that Helga had in fact known that Curly was alive the whole time, but really, why did she need to know? That part of her life held nothing but horrible memories. Nothing good came out of it, save one . . .

Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe had fallen right out of his chair at his wife's words. Suddenly, a memory he had suppressed came roaring back to the front of his mind. The last words of a dead woman. **I'm not the Cheshire Cat**. Did that mean that . . . ?

**Holy **_**shi**_ –

"_Close your eyes, and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you. Remember I'll always be true; and then while I'm away I'll write home every day. And I'll send all my loving to you._" Rhonda sang throughout the house, straightening two photos on the way to the room slowly morphing into a nursery. One was of them the day of their wedding; smiling and in love.

The other was an old, faded sepia Polaroid of a pregnant woman with her daughter, sitting on a swing and smiling at a ghost.

HA


End file.
